


Nothing a Hug Won't Cure

by HeroMaggie



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Comfort, Cranky Elves, Hawke is a dork, Hugs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:49:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1938066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroMaggie/pseuds/HeroMaggie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke stops by the check on Fenris.</p><p>Set shortly after Fenris joins the group in Act 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing a Hug Won't Cure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muddles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muddles/gifts).



> Well, my hug fics started out all Anders-centric. We have now got Fenris. Will I write more? Most likely!

He sat alone in his room, in what was the room he had claimed for himself. The house creaked around him, empty and desolate. He should feel happier, he thought. Freer. After all, he had successfully avoided capture. He had managed to hire somebody capable for once, somebody who knew how to fight. 

His eyes slid around the wrecked room. He had shoved the bed in the corner and pulled a couple chairs over to the fireplace. But other than moving those few pieces and clearing the table, he hadn’t touched anything. It was nicer than anything he’d had before, even with the blood. He couldn’t seem to make himself care.

The sound of the downstairs door opening had him jumping to his feet, had him pulling his sword free. He held himself stiffly, anticipation causing his markings to spark and glow. He stepped back into the shadows and waited patiently, refusing to be the prey. The door to his room creaked open and a dark head appeared.

“Fenris? You here?” 

He exhaled in both annoyance and relief. It was Hawke, the man who had helped him with Danarius’ men. “Hawke,” he slowly moved from the shadows, “what are you doing here?”

Hawke sent the elf a beaming smile and pushed the door open. Waving a bottle of wine at Fenris, he swaggered into the room. “Ah, redecorating?” He laughed at his own bad joke and then shook his head. Fenris held himself still and ignored the sudden urge to smile at the absurdity of the man standing in front of him. “I know you made a big to-do about me being a mage and whatnot but…I never was one to listen to cranky commentary like that. Besides, you could use a drink and a shoulder, I think.” He slapped a hand against Fenris’ shoulder and then moved to find some glasses.

“Hawke,” Fenris started and then stopped, unsure of what he had been about to say. “What are you doing?”

“Fenris,” Hawke’s tone mirrored Fenris’, “pouring wine. What are you doing here?”

“I live here!” Fenris glared at the laughing man. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Maker, sit down. You are a snarly piece of a handsome elf. Sit, sit. Drink the wine. Enjoy some company. I’m just here to visit.”

Fenris growled and threw himself into a chair, his eyes boring holes into the grinning man. Hawke watched Fenris, his eyes laughing as he tipped back his glass to drink deeply and then moved to sit across from the elf. He sprawled out, his lanky body filling the chair, and scratched at his beard. “What a day. I never want to see another of those little dragonling things ever again. One bit my boot. Left teeth marks!”

Fenris muttered. “You shouldn’t have gotten so close. You’re a mage, you should be behind me.”

Hawke grinned, his teeth flashing white against the black cloud of his beard. “Hah. Is that concern I hear from you? Perish the thought of you fearing for a mage’s existence.” Hawke watched the flush slowly rise up Fenris’ neck and he waggled bushy eyebrows at the elf. “So, settling in with the group? You and Anders are a fun pair to watch. He’s a handful of a beauty, isn’t he?”

“Do you flirt with everybody?” Fenris had finally taken his wine and was frowning into the glass.

“Maybe. No. Well…yes. Flirting is fun. Harmless. Anders is a handsome man under all that angst and mage rights propaganda. If he’d pull that stick from his bum he’d be fun. Though I suppose that spirit he’s carting around makes fun…well…tricky.” Hawke pondered his own drink. “I don’t flirt with him, though. Tried once and I thought he’d have a heart attack.” He took a deep gulp and poured himself more wine. 

Fenris watched Hawke for a moment. “He’s an abomination.”

“He’s something,” Hawke said with a grin. “You don’t have to want to kiss the guy, just be cordial. That’s all I’m asking. And as a warning, Merrill won’t get any of your innuendoes and Isabella will go straight from fun flirting to hands in your pants. Be advised. I’m not sure Aveline knows how to flirt and Varric is having some strange relationship with his crossbow. If you want to flirt with Carver, that’s your business, but he’s an ass. I’m the fun brother. Just be…you know…cordial.” Hawke laughed again and took another drink.

“Hawke. I don’t do cordial. Or flirt.” Fenris glowered at the man, confusion blossoming in Fenris’ eyes when Hawke stood and went to him, pulled him from his chair. “What are you…Hawke!”

Hawke just smiled and wrapped his arms around Fenris. “You are so serious. Nothing a hug won’t cure, eh? Assuming you don’t pull my heart out of my chest.” 

Fenris flailed against the Hawke’s larger frame. Hawke was a tall man with lots of lean muscle and big hands. He used it to his advantage to pin Fenris against him. He seemed all good humor and beard, a bear of a man who brought a sliver of warmth and sunshine to the dismal mansion. Fenris found himself, briefly, smiling against Hawke’s shoulder. Another quick squeeze and he was being set back. “There.” Hawke’s eyes twinkled and his smile shifted to something beyond friendly warmth. He seemed about to say something and then he shook his head and moved away.

“Hawke…” Fenris started.

“Garrett.” Garrett grinned over his shoulder. “You can call me Garrett.”

“Er…but everybody calls you Hawke. Are you leaving?” 

Garrett stood at the door to Fenris’ room, his smile a blazing beacon of joy. “I have to hit up Aveline before I head back home. Something about slavers or bandits or something….Maker himself only knows.” He waved his hand nonchalantly. “Come to the Hanged Man later? We’ll play cards.” He turned, took a step and stopped, swung back around. “Oh, and I know everybody calls me Hawke. But for people I really like, I prefer they call me Garrett.” He winked at Fenris and then pivoted and skipped down the stairs while whistling a ditty.

Fenris scratched at his head for a moment, flabbergasted about what had just happened. He looked over to the table, spying the two glasses of wine and the open bottle. He sat back down, picked up one of the glasses and swirled the wine, watched the colors shimmer. Maybe he would head over to the Hanged Man later, he thought, and see Garrett. He didn’t even realize his lips had curled up into a small smile.


End file.
